


don’t, don’t, don’t let’s start (I’ve got a weak heart)

by suzukiblu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha Genji Shimada, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Cybernetics, Falling In Love, Fisting, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Omega Jesse McCree, Oral Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 23:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15544722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: “You busy?” he asks. Genji stares at him in bemusement, which is fair. Genji’s only ever busy when they’re on a mission or he’s in the middle of an upgrade. “Dumb question. My heat’s coming on, wanna do me a favor?”“What favor?” Genji asks, still looking mystified. Jesse tries not to laugh at him.“The obvious one,” he says meaningfully, tipping his hat back and raising his eyebrows at him. Genji looks no less mystified for a moment, then startles. “Therewe go.”





	don’t, don’t, don’t let’s start (I’ve got a weak heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/gifts).



> Done for dancinbutterfly, who wanted heat-happy Jesse, pining Genji, and all the worldbuilding I could fit in. Also some other stuff, but the other stuff is spoilers so we’ll avoid that for now!

Jesse’s getting that familiar itch again. He grins lazily to himself upon recognizing it and stops to lean against the hallway wall, enjoying the warm buzz under his skin and the familiar rising rush of energy. He knows he smells _good_ right now--as good as all the alphas on this base are about to be smelling to him--and he loves knowing it. Getting heated up is the best feeling in the world, and Jesse relishes it every time. He ain't very regular, he never knows a heat’s coming until it’s already knocking at the door, but he don’t mind. It’s like a nice little surprise every few months. 

He’s gonna have to tell Gabe, he remembers distractedly, humming to himself. He pulls out his phone to shoot him a message, though he’s already much more concerned with the idea of finding a partner. He’s got a few hours before the heat really kicks in, which has always been plenty of time for him, but the question, like always, is the _who_. He feels like something new this time, and his choices for “new” are admittedly limited. He’s partnered with just about every single alpha in Overwatch it’d be decent to partner at least twice, and a few of the mated ones too. 

Well, there’s gotta be a new recruit or two who won’t mind helping out a fellow agent, he figures, humming to himself again as he types up his message to Gabe, double-checks that he hasn’t accidentally said anything flirty, and sends it along. 

He could just hit up the base’s clinic, of course, or go get some suppressants from the infirmary, but when it comes to heats Jesse’s always preferred handling them the old-fashioned way. It takes a little longer, but it feels a _hell_ of a lot better. Like--several hells of a lot better. Also, he really prefers to spend his heats in his den. The clinics smell so sterile, and taking suppressants means staying in the infirmary for at least a day while the docs make sure he ain’t gonna have a bad reaction to them; neither option is pleasant. Both options are _definitely_ less fun than jumping the next handsome alpha he sees. 

. . . okay, not _literally_ the next, he amends as he sees Morrison and Reinhardt crossing the far end of the hallway, deep in conversation. That’d be a little too weird. Not, like, _Gabe_ weird, but weird. 

Still, he’s got plenty of options. It’s a big base. 

Jesse seriously considers just going to the gym and waiting for a likely-looking alpha with some aggression to work out to walk in, but Gabe _really_ didn’t like it the last time he did that so he’ll probably just see who he’s got in his contacts and text somebody to meet him in his den. 

Yeah, that seems like the reasonable thing to do, he decides, pushing off the wall and already scrolling through the list. No, no, maybe, not on base, got mated, no, no . . . 

Okay, this here is much less fun than just jumping the next handsome alpha he sees. Well--next-next, he means. Obviously. 

“Ugh,” he groans aloud, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretches his spine out, already thinking longingly of his den. This would probably be easier if he had a standing heat partner, but he ain’t ever really been the type. He likes some variety, and he don’t really get that attached to his partners anyway. Not that he don’t _like_ them, because he definitely does--he wouldn’t fuck anyone he didn’t like--but seeing the same face every time just seems like it would get . . . he don’t know, _boring_. 

Besides, his cycle’s so erratic it’d be a real pain in the ass for whoever that hypothetical partner was, and it’s easier to avoid that kinda mess. Jesse prefers to take the easy road in these situations; it’s just better for everybody. It does mean he’s usually looking for a partner last-minute, but that’s a small price to pay for flexibility. 

Now he’s just gotta find this cycle’s partner. 

Mmmm. Well, when all else fails, pick a pretty scent and follow it, he figures as he puts out his cigar, closing his eyes and trying to suss out who on base has left a nice virile scent trail around here lately. There’s Morrison and Reinhardt’s scents, which he rules out immediately, and a real nice and warm leather scent, and a heavy one like cold rain, and one that’s a bit like--

“What are you doing?” Genji asks, and Jesse blinks open his eyes to find the other man standing directly in front of him. 

“Hey there, partner,” he greets him casually, lifting a hand in a wave. Genji smells like metal and ozone, sharp and clear as a warning, and Jesse licks his lips distractedly as he looks him over, letting the other’s electric pheromones crackle on his tongue. He wonders what he smells like when he comes. A lightning strike, maybe, whatever _that_ smells like. 

Well, Jesse wouldn’t mind learning, come to think. And he _was_ just thinking he’d like an alpha he ain’t toppled yet. 

“You busy?” he asks. Genji stares at him in bemusement, which is fair. Genji’s only ever busy when they’re on a mission or he’s in the middle of an upgrade. “Dumb question. My heat’s coming on, wanna do me a favor?” 

“What favor?” Genji asks, still looking mystified. Jesse tries not to laugh at him. 

“The obvious one,” he says meaningfully, tipping his hat back and raising his eyebrows at him. Genji looks no less mystified for a moment, then startles. “ _There_ we go.” 

“I cannot,” Genji says, his shoulders stiffening. Jesse frowns, a little perplexed by the phrasing. 

“If this is a schedule issue, you know Gabe’s real good about giving us time off for--” 

“No,” Genji cuts him off. “I physically _cannot_.” 

“Oh,” Jesse says, eyes widening. “Oh! Hell!” 

.

.

.

The worst part, Genji thinks, is that Jesse is _kind_ about it. He doesn’t even know why he told him the truth when a lie would’ve been so much simpler--it would’ve been so easy to just say he didn’t want to. Jesse wouldn’t have questioned a simple refusal. 

He had to say it like that, though. He had to put it that way. 

God, he’s an idiot. 

But of course he was an idiot. One of the few omegas he’s noticed since his maiming had come up to him and asked him to partner him like it was _simple_ , like it was _easy_ , like it was just something he could _do_ \--of course he was an idiot. 

Genji feels like throwing up, though he can barely remember if he’s even capable of the act anymore. He just had to turn down an omega in need. He knows there are plenty of other alphas on base who can take care of Jesse, but that’s not the point, the point is that he _failed_ him. An omega who trusts him came to him and asked him for something that _should’ve_ been in his power to give, and he couldn’t do it. He’ll never be able to do it. 

Can he even call himself an alpha anymore, if he can’t do the most basic of things for an omega who needs it? 

He doesn’t see how. 

It makes him want to pull himself apart. It makes him want to stick something sharp in his own wires. 

It makes him want to do a lot of things he shouldn’t do. 

.

.

.

Jesse goes through a couple more Blackwatch alphas before he finds an Overwatch one to knock over and spends his heat getting very nicely fucked and very _thoroughly_ knotted by the very energetic Cadet Oxton, which normally would leave him a lot happier. He ends up feeling moody and restless, though, and it’s worse because Oxton can tell and tries to soothe him. Unfortunately she can’t, for whatever reason, and that stresses him out even more. 

He tells her he just ain’t felt well lately, and she fusses him deep into his nest and spends half a day alternating between fucking him right and fetching him orange juice, which he honestly appreciates but still don’t really help. He manages to get enough of a mood boost going that his pheromones smell okay, at least, and Oxton believes him when he tells her he’s fine. For the best, definitely; he don’t want a worried alpha setting up camp in his den. 

He still feels moody and restless, though, and he can’t figure out why. 

Well--he sort of can. He feels like his alpha turned him down. Except he don’t _have_ an alpha, and he gets turned down for heats all the time--for scheduling reasons, or because someone’s promised to someone else, or because someone just ain’t interested. Normal reasons, like anybody’d have. Normal reasons that ain’t ever bothered him _before_. 

Well, no. That ain’t entirely true, is it. 

He didn’t know Genji couldn’t . . . whatever he can’t do, exactly. If it’s nerve damage or something worse. He wasn’t gonna press him on it, obviously. Maybe he just can’t knot proper or his scent glands are damaged; maybe he can’t do _anything_. It’s a bit too much to ask, no matter how many times they’ve saved each other’s lives. 

It’s kinda fucked up how much he wants to ask, considering that. 

It’s also kinda fucked up how he _still_ feels like his alpha rejected him. That--that is something strange, is that. 

.

.

.

Angela is talking and Genji is thinking about pulling his cybernetic hand apart a knuckle at a time. It’s not a real hand; it feels like it should just pop apart at the joints. He knows that his real hand would be likelier to do that than the cybernetic one, but it still feels like it should be a thing. Like he could just take himself apart all over again. Maybe then he’d remember what feeling human feels like. 

Probably not. 

“We need to talk about your situation,” Angela says with a particular, familiar delicateness. Genji can think of very few things as horrible as an omega politely explaining all the ways he is deficient as an alpha to him, but Angela’s done it enough times that he’s almost gotten used to it. She knows he’s not a real alpha anymore--she was the one who _told_ him he’s not a real alpha anymore--but she doesn’t treat him any differently than any other alpha patient. 

Unfortunately, that means she keeps bringing up his deficiencies, because in her mind, they’re something to _fix_. 

“I do not want to talk about it,” he says, thinking of Jesse and his casual questions and the genuinely startled way he’d looked at him for a moment, like it’d never even occurred to him that Genji might be anything less than what he’d assumed him to be. And then he’d been _kind_ about it, and hasn’t treated him any differently since. 

It’s enough to make an alpha go _mad_. 

“I have some diagrams,” Angela says. 

“I do not want to see them,” Genji says, and leaves. 

.

.

.

Jesse finds Genji on top of the watchpoint, though he wasn’t really looking for him. At least, not on purpose. It’s after midnight, and he just wanted some cold night air and a bit of privacy. 

“Long time no see,” he says. He ain’t sure Genji ain’t been avoiding him outside of missions, which, to be fair, he can understand why the guy might wanna. Alphas are so _sensitive_. 

Then again, Jesse’s pretty sure he’d be downright _miserable_ if he couldn’t fuck, so this ain’t really an issue of being too sensitive. 

“Jesse,” Genji says. He don’t run off or say anything else. Jesse takes a chance and sits down next to him to light a cigar. The cherry glows almost the same color as Genji’s eyes, which is a distracting thing to notice just now. 

“How you doing?” he asks. 

“You smell upset,” Genji says. Jesse, briefly, thinks--does he really need knotted _that_ bad when he’s in heat? Which, well, yes he does--it’s _heat_ \--but some part of him is still thinking maybe they could work something out. 

“Just a bit beside myself,” he says. “What’re you doing up here?” 

“It is quiet up here,” Genji says. 

“Fair enough,” Jesse says, but that’s when the wind changes a bit and he smells--“Are you _bleeding_?” 

“No,” Genji lies. Jesse just _looks_ at him. He don’t really know what to say to that. His eyes flick over the other, looking for signs of injury, but he don’t find anything obvious. Who knows how much flesh and blood Genji does or don’t have under his armor, though. 

Assuming that’s actually armor, of course, and ain’t just the way his body’s built now. 

“Okay,” he says finally. It’s not a lot of blood. He won’t push it. 

“I am sorry,” Genji says, his voice--abrupt. Cut-off sounding. “About--before.” 

“Before?” Jesse frowns. 

“When you . . . your last heat,” Genji says, his eyes skating away across the roof. “I could not assist you.” 

“You’re apologizing for that?” Jesse asks incredulously. “Partner, I should be apologizing for _asking_. I didn’t even think.” 

“Why would you?” Genji laughs. It ain’t a _nice_ laugh. “I was more surprised you asked at all. I am only half an alpha at best.” 

“You’re one of the best alphas I know, whether your dick works or not,” Jesse says. 

“It does not,” Genji says. 

“I don’t care,” Jesse says. 

“ _I_ do,” Genji says. “I had to turn you away because of my own deficiencies. How much less of an alpha could I _be_?” 

“You ain’t any less of an alpha ‘cause of what someone else did _to_ you,” Jesse says, leaning in with a frown. “Your brother--” 

“I do _not_ want to talk about my brother,” Genji bites off. Which--fair enough, again. Still. 

“It ain’t on you,” Jesse says. “That’s all I’m saying.” 

“I could do nothing for you,” Genji says. “That is entirely on me, and the consequences of my actions. I can do nothing for any omega.” 

“Not every omega would care about that, you know,” Jesse says. 

“You would,” Genji says. 

“So? I ain’t every omega,” Jesse says. “Just ‘cause _I_ like being knotted a bit too much--” 

Then he stops, and actually thinks for a moment. 

“Oh,” he says. 

“Yes,” Genji says. _“Oh.”_

.

.

.

The night on the roof was a mistake, Genji knew even as he was making it. It’s no less a mistake because he knew. 

It’s a bigger mistake when it happens again, though. 

“What are you doing up here?” he asks, looking down at Jesse. 

“It’s quiet up here,” Jesse replies with a shrug. Because Genji is a fool, he sits down beside him. 

“Since when do you like the quiet?” he says. 

“I like the quiet plenty,” Jesse says. “Wouldn’t be much good at my job if I didn’t.” 

“I suppose,” Genji says, refusing to let his eyes trail down the length of the other’s long, long legs or over his strong and nimble hands and doing his best to keep his attention on his face. Jesse is not a traditionally beautiful omega and makes no effort to act or dress like one, but he looks no less lovely under the starlight. Sometimes Genji thinks he might just be the loveliest omega he’s ever seen. 

“Been a long day, anyway. It’s nice to get a little time away,” Jesse says, taking a drag of his cigar. Genji avoids looking at his mouth, but that leaves him looking at his eyes. 

He wishes he were still a whole alpha. This might be one of the moments he’s wished it most in. 

“I can go,” he says. 

“Why?” Jesse asks. 

“I . . . never mind,” Genji says, because he is selfish enough to stay if Jesse doesn’t mind his presence. He can’t give him what a proper alpha could, but as long as Jesse occasionally lets him sit beside him in quiet times . . . 

Well, that won’t ever be enough, but at least it would be something. 

.

.

.

Jesse wants to kiss him, but that would be unfair. 

.

.

.

Genji wants to kiss him, but that would be unfair. 

.

.

.

“Hey,” Jesse greets, the third or fourth time they find each other on the roof. He’s starting to wonder if it’s on purpose, somehow. He can think of a lot of reasons it might be, though he’s not sure Genji shares those reasons. 

“Hello,” Genji says, and Jesse sits down beside him. They sit in silence tonight. There’s nothing to talk about, or at least nothing they want to, and Jesse don’t mind the quiet. Genji don’t seem to either. 

It would be very easy to kiss him, if he were a different alpha. But the alpha Genji is wears a faceplate he might not even _be_ kissable behind and has _feelings_ \--feelings of his own, feelings for Jesse, feelings about himself. Jesse would kiss him anyway, gladly, but he ain’t the one who feels like he’s missing some integral part of what makes him what he is. He ain’t the one who’d _hurt_ from it, if it came to it. 

Maybe he’d hurt a little, he thinks as he sneaks a glance at Genji under the brim of his hat. Genji is looking at the sky, metal parts lit by moonlight, and he is the handsomest damn thing Jesse’s ever seen in real life. He’ll admit, it makes him a little crazy knowing he’ll never get to touch him. He don’t know if that’s the same as catching feelings for someone, though. He’s liked a few people better than others in his time, but he can’t say as he’s ever really _loved_ one. Not like a mate loves a mate. If someone had asked him a month ago, he don’t know what he would’ve thought his feelings for Genji were then. A teammate, a fellow agent, a brother-in-arms--but anything else? Who knows? 

How _would_ he know? Overwatch is the closest thing he’s ever had to a real pack. Deadlock sure as hell wasn’t one, and just his ma alone did her best, but it was different. Not like this, busy and big and full of people all sharing a common purpose. 

He still wonders what Genji’s teeth are like, and what it’d feel like to be bitten by them. Is that because he wants that, or just because he knows he can’t have it? 

There’s a difference, he thinks, and if he doesn’t know it . . . he shouldn’t be here if he doesn’t know it. 

Should he? 

.

.

.

Jesse’s very quiet on the roof, so when they crash into each other in training and he laughs loud and happy, it takes Genji’s breath away altogether. He was getting used to the roof and the unspoken rules of it, and hearing him like that is . . . 

Oh, it’s so good to hear him like that. 

“Sorry, partner, wasn’t watching my roll,” Jesse says, offering him a hand up with a wry grin. Genji takes it, because he will take any little point of contact from Jesse. The fact that their collision has their scents all over each other makes him feel a little woozy, and makes him _very_ sure he’s going to be first to the showers today. He’s had Jesse’s scent on him before, of course, but not many times. 

And not since Jesse figured him out, either. 

Jesse’s been merciful about it; still treated him like a friend and comrade, and not some sorry barely human thing with delusions of . . . he doesn’t even know how to put it, really. The fact he looks at Jesse and feels something warm in himself in response--that’s a delusion, and nothing he can actually have. 

He used to be the kind of alpha who would’ve taken one look at Jesse McCree and tried to sweep him off his feet. The clan had never been particularly big on heat or rut partnering outside of mating, but Genji’d been the second son and so hadn’t cared what they’d thought. Back then he would’ve been able to give Jesse what he needed, and he wouldn’t have thought twice about doing it, except maybe in the sense that he _would’ve_ thought about it again later and wanted it again. 

He’s certain he would’ve wanted it again. Jesse’s char and gunsmoke scent alone, to say nothing of Jesse _himself_ , just Jesse as the person he _is_ . . . yes. He would’ve wanted it again. 

He wants it again right now, and he’s never even _had_ it. 

“All good?” Jesse asks, same as he’d ask any training partner. 

“Yes,” Genji says. “All good.” 

.

.

.

For the first time in his life, Jesse thinks he might be about to lose his goddamned mind over an alpha. Might be about to lose several _kinds_ of his goddamned mind, the rate he’s going. 

He can’t have Genji. Genji doesn’t want him. 

Except that would be too easy. Genji _does_ want him, is the problem there. He _could_ have Genji, if his miserable excuse for a clan hadn’t ordered him killed; if his own damned _brother_ hadn’t maimed and _murdered_ him. If things had gone a little different for him, one way or another. 

It’s a very selfish thought, but Jesse ain’t gonna deny having had it. 

The long and the short of it, though, is that he can’t have Genji, and there’s nothing he can do to change that. He watches him a bit too close these days and he’s sure it ain’t subtle, but he can’t bring himself to quit. Genji hasn’t complained, which is the only thing he thinks could convince him to. 

Genji might not have even noticed, to be fair. He don’t seem to understand there’s anything desirable left in him--like he thinks his brother cut it all out, took it off like an arm or leg. If he sees Jesse looking, who knows what he thinks he’s actually looking at? 

Jesse wants to tell him, but it’d only hurt him. Genji’s hurt enough in his life; he don’t need the kind of omega who’d chase him around and lead him along in the same breath. 

So Jesse keeps his mouth shut, and only looks when he’s sure Genji ain’t already looking at him, and tells himself to keep his greedy hands to himself. He can have just about any other alpha on base just for the asking; it ain’t right to obsess over one of the few he can’t just _because_ he can’t. 

It’s only Genji, though. The other alphas he can’t have, it never really bothered him, but _Genji_ . . . 

It’s goddamn _maddening_ , that he can’t have Genji. 

He can’t figure out why he feels this way. 

.

.

.

Genji should stop going to the roof, but he hasn’t stopped yet. 

Jesse keeps being up there. 

“Well, that sucked,” Jesse says, knocking his hat off his own head to rake a hand through his hair in frustration. Genji hums an answer and pretends it doesn’t sound like the whirring of a machine. That mission was miserable enough. He doesn’t need to think about his vocal synthesizer too. 

It’s a bit hard to forget tonight, since it’s so badly damaged Angela’s currently building him a new one. 

“You still sore?” Jesse asks. 

“Very,” Genji replies in a low, staticky murmur. The word’s barely coherent, but Jesse seems to understand it. At least, he doesn’t look confused. “You?” 

“As hell,” Jesse says. “And I’m wired like a damn _explosive_.” 

Genji hums again--static and crackly--and nods. He feels his synthesizer move in a _very_ uncomfortable way and tries not to think about it too much. Maybe no more nodding tonight. 

He feels it too, though--the wired feeling, too much energy for how little body he has left to support it. Bad missions end two ways, in his experience: one is exhaustion, and one is this. 

Jesse smells like smoke and slick and sex. He disappeared as soon as he turned in his mission report and clearly did it to find an alpha, because he reeks of the arousal of more than one alpha Genji doesn’t recognize, and one or two he does. He wonders which one Jesse picked. He wonders if Jesse picked _more_ than one. 

He wonders if Jesse would’ve picked him, if he could’ve. 

He knows better than to wonder that kind of thing. 

“I ain’t looking forward to this mission review, I’ll tell you that,” Jesse says, shifting restlessly. Genji wants to be able to soothe him, but even if he could he doesn’t know how. 

“Nor am I,” he rasps quietly, picking distractedly at the sealing foam currently holding his arm together. The casing was ripped open, all his tubes and wires hanging out, and the arm’s still only half-functional at best; his legs aren’t much better, and it took a lot more effort than usual to get up here tonight. Angela prioritized the vocal synthesizer, though, because he asked her to. 

Angela doesn’t always listen to him like he wishes she would, but he appreciates the fact she’ll at least ask him what to fix first. It’s . . . valuable, for lack of a better word. He values that question. He hates what he is and what holds him together, hates the pain and the inhumanity of it, but at least Angela asks him _what should I fix first?_

He picks a little more at the sealing foam. It’s starting to come apart. He wants to peel it all off and rip out all his wires and throw them off the roof. 

“Careful there, darlin’,” Jesse says, grabbing his hand. Genji pretends his touch doesn’t make something dead and ashy in him flicker with embers of heat. He pretends being called “darling” doesn’t do anything to him at all. “Starting to crack a bit.” 

“So it is,” Genji says tonelessly. Jesse squeezes his hand for a moment, then lets it go. Genji wishes he’d just kept hold of it. 

“You smell like blood,” Jesse says. They’re sitting so close; close enough to touch. They always sit close enough to touch. 

“I was bleeding,” Genji reminds him. 

“Yeah.” Jesse takes a harsh drag off his cigar. Genji wishes he could still smoke. He misses it. It would’ve given him something to do with his hands besides struggle to keep them off Jesse, too. “You took a lot of hits.” 

“We all did,” Genji says. The static in his throat nearly drowns the words out, but Jesse just nods. 

“I reckon so,” he says. “Think Moira actually broke a nail. She was _not_ pleased.” 

“I think Moira broke her _arm_ ,” Genji says. He’d laugh, but he can’t. Like he can’t do a lot of things right now, or in general. 

“Well, yeah, but which part you think she’s more pissed about?” Jesse asks wryly. 

“I thought you were dead,” Genji says, and Jesse blinks at him. He--hadn’t meant to say that. And of _course_ the static cleared enough for _that_ to come out clear and perfect. But he’s already started, so he might as well finish. “When that assassin hit you. It looked like a headshot, from where we were.” 

“Ah.” Jesse takes another drag. “Well. Luckily enough, I ain’t so easily killed.” 

“Luckily,” Genji agrees. He’d slashed that assassin to pieces, his dragon starving for her blood. She’d been the one to get through the casing on his arm, but it hadn’t been enough to overcome his rage. 

Then Jesse had stood up, bloody and laughing, and Genji hadn’t known how to feel. 

“You’re lucky she got the metal arm,” Jesse says. Genji is fairly sure he’d go insane if he lost his remaining arm, so yes, he is. He doesn’t say that, though. 

“I can never do anything for you,” he says instead. “If you had died then, I would never have done a thing for you in my life.” 

“You’ve _saved_ my life, partner,” Jesse snorts. 

“That is the job,” Genji says. “Agent Shimada does that for Agent McCree. But _I_ \--there’s nothing I can do for you as myself.” 

“You’re real fixated on that,” Jesse says. 

“I do not know how not to be,” Genji says, static-crackly and wishing he could kiss him. Even Jesse would recoil from his face, though, he’s sure. He doesn’t wear the mask because he _likes_ it. 

“Maybe that’s something you should work on,” Jesse says. Genji starts picking at the sealing foam again, the gesture automatic and unthinking, and Jesse catches his hand again. His real hand, of course. 

It really does make something in Genji _burn_. 

Then Jesse lifts his hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, and “burn” is not a strong enough word for the way Genji’s pheromones react to that. He doesn’t even try to repress the shudder. 

“Do not mock me,” he manages to say. 

“That is most definitely not what I am doing, darlin’,” Jesse says, and turns his hand to kiss the scent glands on the inside of his wrist. Genji’s breath all comes out of him all at once, and his damaged synthesizer makes a truly alarming noise. Jesse mouths up the inside of his forearm and Genji has nothing to do with his hands. 

This is a bad idea. Genji should stop him. 

He doesn’t stop him. 

.

.

.

Jesse knows better, but he does it anyway. 

.

.

.

Genji wishes he knew better. 

.

.

.

“I’m gonna die,” Jesse says with a sigh. 

“Sooner than later, probably,” Gabe agrees from the other side of the table. “Try not to, though, I don’t have time to have to break in a new cowboy right now.” 

“Thanks for your empathy, boss,” Jesse says, eyeing him dryly. 

“If this is about Shimada, it’s not any of my business,” Gabe says. Jesse would wonder how he knew, but of _course_ Gabe knows. He’d be more surprised if he didn’t, honestly. 

“It ain’t about Shimada,” he lies anyway, and Gabe sighs and sets down the mission report in his hands. 

“You’re both my subordinates. I’m not involved in this,” he says, pointing at him. “Off the record, however, don’t get involved with him if you only want another heat partner.” 

“Yeah, that’d be easier if I knew _what_ I want,” Jesse says. It _started_ as another heat partner. It sure as shit hasn’t gone that way. 

“You’re the only one who does, kid,” Gabe says. 

.

.

.

Jesse kisses the inside of Genji’s wrist, and this time Genji leans in towards him instead of staying stiff and straight-backed. Jesse’s eyes flick to his eyes and Genji is in so, so much trouble. 

“I cannot,” he reminds them both. 

“What _can_ you do?” Jesse asks, and that’s how Genji ends up pinning Jesse to the roof and rubbing him off through his tac pants as the other clutches roughly at his back. Some other things happen in-between, but nothing important enough to remember. 

“This is a bad idea,” Genji says. 

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Jesse moans. 

How could he? 

.

.

.

By the time Genji actually gets his hand inside Jesse’s pants, he’s already downright soaking. Those clever, blade-scarred fingers press and rub against the most sensitive parts of him and feel so good Jesse nearly kicks him off the damn roof. He’s been wanting touched so bad, and getting it is so _good_. 

“Jesus,” he gasps, trying not to claw too hard at the other’s back. He don’t know if he might damage something important if he does. Probably not, but better safe than very, very sorry. “Lord al- _goddamn_ -mighty, you are good at that.” 

“Practice makes perfect,” Genji says, and twists his fingers in a way that has Jesse throwing his head back against the roof. He’s never felt this good just getting fingered, except _maybe_ in heat. Genji rocks his fingers into him and Jesse _whines_ , clinging tight to him in response. He buries his mouth in Genji’s shoulder and bites up his neck, pushing up into him, and Genji weighs him down. He ain’t as heavy as other alphas Jesse’s been with--no wonder he can jump like that, if Angela built him this light--but his weight feels good all the same. 

This is a bad idea, but he’s pretty sure they’ve already covered that. 

Genji takes him apart just like that, flat on his back on the roof with his pants down around his knees. It’s so good that Jesse comes _shaking_ and has to bury a heated cry in Genji’s shoulder, and he reflexively struggles to lock the fingers in him and can’t repress the whimper when Genji reclaims them, thighs squeezing together in instinctive frustration. 

“Sorry,” Genji says quietly, stroking the side of his face with his cybernetic hand. Jesse turns his face into it and whines again--there’s no electric ozone scent there, just metal alone. He fumbles to grab the other’s other hand and pulls it up to his face too, not caring that it’s covered in slick. It smells like _Genji_ , which is what matters. It’s scenting him, which is what _really_ matters. 

“What’re you sorry for?” Jesse remembers to ask belatedly, still breathless and shuddery from aftershocks. “That felt _good_.” 

“I cannot knot you,” Genji says. 

“You ain’t gotta,” Jesse says, though the reminder makes him feel empty and restless and makes it hard not to squirm. Genji would knot him right, he’s sure. Genji would knot him _just_ right. 

“I could not see you through a heat,” Genji says, shaking his head. Jesse pulls his head down and kisses the sharp metal jaw of his faceplate. 

“There something I can do for you?” he asks. He knows Genji can’t knot, but he don’t know if there’s some other way to make him feel good. 

“No,” Genji says, leaning back. He looks pained. Jesse wants to kiss him somewhere again. He’s not picky about the where. He settles for grabbing the other’s slick-sticky hand to lick it clean, and gets some very interesting noises in response. The way Genji’s eyes widen alone is worth it. He’s not particularly fond of the taste of his own slick, but anything that’ll get Genji to react like that he’ll eat like fucking _candy_. 

He kisses Genji’s palm, and Genji makes a near-heartbreaking sound. Jesse pushes into the point of contact, and Genji slides his hand back along his jaw and tangles his fingers in his hair in the most perfect way. Someone else, Jesse would kiss. Someone else Jesse _could_ kiss. 

Genji lets go of him and leans back, and Jesse sighs in regret. He almost, _almost_ leans after him, but instead he fixes his clothes and buttons himself up and wishes the other would at least--touch him, maybe. Just a little more. 

“That maybe wasn’t the cleverest thing we ever did,” he says. 

“It was a mistake,” Genji says unevenly. 

“Probably, but if it was up to me, we’d still be making it,” Jesse says. 

“We should not do this again,” Genji says. 

They make it a week. 

.

.

.

“Please, please, oh please--” Jesse is gasping into Genji’s flesh and blood shoulder, into one of the few human parts of him left, and Genji is trying not to feel the other’s breath hot against his skin or his body flexing hot and tight around his fingers or just how _close_ they are. It’s not working. 

This is his fault. He started this. 

He really didn’t mean to. 

“I will,” he murmurs as he curls his fingers inside the other, and Jesse moans into his skin and jerks against him. 

“Feels so _good_ , darlin’,” he pants, burying his face against his throat. Genji tries not to shake apart. Something so small shouldn’t be enough to make him shake apart. He wants to blame the fact that he has so little nonviolent human contact these days, but in truth he thinks it might just be Jesse, which is probably worse. Definitely worse. 

All of this is worse. 

“Don’t,” Genji rasps, and Jesse kisses the sharp corner of his mask. Genji can’t feel it, but it hurts anyway. 

“I do,” Jesse says, pulling him in closer like he’s not made of wires and metal and plastic; like it could possibly feel good to embrace him. Like it could feel like _anything_ to embrace some non-person of a machine when his body so clearly wants heat and humanity. 

Genji hates what he’s become. Been reduced to. _Is_. Even in this moment, with Jesse soft and receptive and begging for more of him--even now, all he can do is hate what he can’t be for him. Another alpha would be better, another alpha could do more, another alpha would-- 

“So good to me, darlin’,” Jesse says, and presses a kiss to the small strip of skin bared at the corner of Genji’s eye. Genji, again, has to hold himself together from shaking apart. All his pieces could come unbolted so easily, if it was Jesse doing it. 

He can’t keep doing this, he thinks, but of course he doesn’t stop. 

.

.

.

Jesse’s got a problem and that problem is Genji Shimada’s knot. Or rather, his problem is Genji Shimada’s _lack_ of a knot, and the fact that that’s a problem. He wishes it weren’t. He’s known other omegas who can be satisfied without being knotted; he’s known other omegas who don’t even _like_ being knotted, or who prefer toys over alphas. If he was one of those, maybe Genji wouldn’t hate himself for touching him. If he was one of those, maybe Genji would touch him _more_. 

He doubts it, though. Why would Genji feel like more of an alpha because of what someone _else_ wanted? 

He don’t know why he feels this way. He ain’t _ever_ felt this way about an alpha--ain’t ever wanted to be any different than he is, ain’t ever worried this much about what a partner might be thinking. 

It’s hard to consider Genji a “partner” when Jesse can’t do nothing for him. And he can only imagine how well _that’d_ go in heat. Jesse ain’t the sensitive type, but he don’t know many omegas who could handle an alpha they want being right there and just _not knotting them_. He doubts he’d be any different. 

He says that like he ain’t already going a little crazy, mind. 

“I’m not involved in this,” Gabe reminds him. 

“I didn’t _say_ nothing,” Jesse shoots back, and Gabe sighs. 

“I told you not to get involved with Shimada,” he says. 

“Technically speaking, you only told me not to get involved if all I wanted was a heat partner,” Jesse says. Gabe raises his eyebrows at him. 

“And?” he asks. 

“I plead the fifth,” Jesse says. 

“‘Involved’?” Angela asks curiously, and Jesse jerks in surprise. She’s standing behind them with a clipboard, frowning. 

“Oh, please don’t ask,” he groans, raking a hand back over his scalp and knocking his hat off. Angela catches it, and sets it back on top of his head. 

“Tell me about it,” she says. 

“I’d really rather not,” he says. 

.

.

.

“I made you something,” Angela says, holding up a little box and setting it on the desk between them. Genji takes one look at her face and feels the overwhelming urge to hide in a ventilation shaft. It’s the look she wears every time she has a new upgrade she knows he won’t like. 

“I do not want--” he starts, and then she opens the box and he looks inside. “What the _fuck_ , Angela.” 

She smiles at him. He does _not_ smile back, not that she’d be able to see even if he did. 

“Look,” she says. “Everything else is functional--your pheromones, your remaining scent glands, your bonding ability. The nerve damage isn’t even that bad, comparatively.” 

“You want to stick a _sex toy_ on me,” Genji says. 

“I want to help you recover,” Angela corrects. “However that might look like for you. This is the highest-quality prosthetic I could find. It will have sensation nearly as strong as--” 

“No,” Genji cuts her off, shaking his head. He’s already a mockery of an alpha. Some _lie_ of feeling, some unreal thing no different than a toy--who would that satisfy? Not Jesse, who has made no effort to conceal how much he loves being fucked, how much he loves being _knotted_. Not any omega. 

Not Genji himself. It’d be no more real than any other prosthetic weighing him down. He wanted to walk again, he wanted revenge, he wants to be able to touch someone, but--

Just--no. 

“It will work,” Angela says. “There will be some pain with the installation, the same as any prosthetic, but that is the worst of it. Otherwise it will function hardly any differently than a biological penis. You would be able to use it almost exactly like one.” 

“I do not want it,” Genji says, already knowing that “almost” would be enough to have him pulling at the tubes in his body until they bleed. There are other things he could do. Other options. Maybe not for Jesse, but . . . well, he already knows there’s nothing he can do to satisfy Jesse. This wouldn’t be any better than a toy, even if it worked just like a real knot. 

“It would work, though,” Angela says. 

“No,” he says again, and leaves. 

.

.

.

Jesse’s getting that familiar itch again. For once, he _don’t_ welcome it. Usually it’s his favorite feeling in the world; right now it’s just the certainty that Genji won’t touch him, which might be his _least_ favorite feeling in the world. Next to getting shot, anyway. Getting shot ranks pretty high up there. 

Genji absolutely won’t touch him in heat, though, he already knows. He’s made it more than clear that he won’t. 

It ain’t _fair_. 

Jesse retreats to his den and bunks down miserably, not even caring about finding an alpha this time. He _has_ an alpha, and it’s an alpha who wouldn’t come if he called. There’s things they could try that might work, but Genji don’t even want to try. 

Jesse understands why Genji don’t want to try, but it don’t exactly help him feel better. He can’t imagine what _would_ help him feel better, except for Genji to show up after all and touch him. There’s things they could try. 

They’re not trying them, though. 

Jesse kicks off his boots and tosses aside his hat and buries himself in his bed under every pillow and blanket he has and _wants_. He feels sick and crampy and unhappy and knows one text to any number of people could solve the problem, but any number of people don’t include the person he wants. He ain’t ever felt like this during a heat, even when he was young and dumb and got crushes as easy as he breathed; even suffering through heats after _breakups_ he don’t feel like this. 

This is a bad sign, he knows. 

He just wants Genji--the Genji who fights beside him, the teammate with no sense of self-preservation who has his back and can’t be trusted to take care of himself, the _idiot_ who touches him but won’t _touch him_. Genji who is the only thing he wants but maybe doesn’t have what he needs. 

If Genji could knot, Jesse could call him. He could call him and Genji would show up and Genji would _fuck_ him. Jesse knows he’d be good at it. He touches him too well not to be, even with as little as he touches him. Genji would touch him and fuck him and it would be _good_ , but Genji can’t and won’t and--

Jesus, he is a mess and a half, isn’t he. 

Jesse buries his face in the nearest pillow with a frustrated groan and drags a blanket over his head. He _stinks_. All he can smell are his own pheromones, sour and unsatisfied and nothing to tempt any alpha. No one _else_ even smells good to him right now. 

This is stupid. Genji was right, they never should’ve done anything. They barely _did_ do anything! It’s not like the bastard put his teeth in his neck! 

He could’ve. Jesse would’ve let him. Might’ve even _asked_ him to, given the excuse or the chance. But no, Genji has to wear that goddamned faceplate all the time and won’t touch him properly and ain’t _here_. 

If he were here, maybe Jesse could convince him to take that faceplate off. Maybe he could convince him to kiss him. 

Maybe he could convince him to eat him out and satisfy this fucking _burn_ in his gut. That. That’d be good. Jesse wouldn’t complain about a damn thing, if Genji would just take off his faceplate long enough for him to ride his face--and no longer than that. Jesse wants to come all over him, cover him in his slick and sweat, and then put that faceplate right back on him and make sure Genji can smell absolutely nothing but _him_. 

Maybe then he’d touch him. 

But he’s not here, so Jesse can’t find out. 

“Genji,” he whines into his pillow, finally desperate enough to shove a hand into his pants and start rubbing his cock. He’s already aching, and the stimulation feels like it hurts more than it helps; slipping his fingers back to dip into his hole isn’t any better. It’s not like having an alpha’s hands on him; not like having _Genji’s_ hands on him. Not what he _wants_. “Genji, Genji, _Genji_ \--!” 

Genji won’t come. Genji wouldn’t come if he screamed down the whole _base_ , even if the stupid fucking rooms _weren’t_ fucking soundproofed. 

Jesse just--he just wants-- 

He just _wants_. 

.

.

.

Genji didn’t mean to be obvious, but he supposes he’s been spending enough time around Jesse that someone would eventually ask--

“Oi, are you and McCree together?” Cadet Oxton asks. “Because I think he’s--” 

“No,” Genji says, cutting her off before she can say anything else. Oxton is an alpha--a _real_ alpha, young and virile and strong. He doesn’t want to hear what she has to say about this. 

“Oh,” she says. “Okay, never mind, then.” 

He could ask her “never mind what?”, but that would require too much interest. Too much investment. Too much _involvement_. It doesn’t matter what Oxton wants to know, because she isn’t asking him--she’s asking someone who could _be_ with Jesse. Someone who is nothing like him at all. 

He lets her leave, and takes his own leave. He goes up to the roof, because he goes there more often than not these days. Jesse isn’t there, but Genji didn’t expect him to be. 

Would’ve liked it, but didn’t expect it. 

He hasn’t seen Jesse all day, actually. Caught his scent, once or twice, but only vaguely. 

That’s for the best, for obvious reasons, because the traces of his scent that Genji caught were too good, too sweet, too _much_. Jesse’s about to go into heat; might already be in it by now. He’s probably denned down with an alpha Genji never wants to know the name of, because this is difficult enough without him _knowing_. Jesse needs taken care of and he can’t do it, so someone else is. 

Someone else is taking care of Jesse right now. 

Genji decides staying on the roof might be for the best. 

Staying on the roof is definitely for the best. Angela is still trying to convince him to let her install the-- _thing_ , that sad imitation of something real, and thinking about Jesse being taken care of by someone else is _almost_ enough to make him stupid enough to go and find her. Almost. 

He doesn’t care what Angela says. What omega would want a fake knot when they could have a real one? 

.

.

.

Jesse feels disgusting even after spending an hour in the shower and throwing all his sheets in the laundry and cleaning his den twice over. It ain’t enough. He _hates_ spending heats alone, but this time he hated the idea of spending it with someone more. It wouldn’t have been fair to anyone--not to any alpha he’d be wishing was Genji, and not to Genji either. Hell, he ain’t even sure it would’ve been fair to _him_. 

He needs to do something about this. He really, _really_ needs to do something about this. 

But for right now, he’s upset and he’s sad and he don’t feel good, but his heat’s over. And if his heat’s over, Genji will touch him again, right? 

He thinks. Or he maybe just wants to think. 

He texts him--something normal, something noncommital. Still an invitation, definitely. Genji don’t answer, which makes Jesse want to break his phone in half. He might still be a little over-emotional from the hormones. 

He still really wants to break his phone in half. 

There’s a knock on the door. Jesse’s across the room and yanking it open before it’s even done. Genji is there, hand still raised, and staring at him. 

“Get in here,” Jesse says, and drags him across the threshold. 

.

.

.

Genji doesn’t think he’s been in Jesse’s den before. Genji _definitely_ hasn’t been on Jesse’s _bed_ before, but that’s where Jesse’s shoving him and before he can say anything, he’s getting thrown onto the mattress and has a lapful of frustrated, _pleading_ omega. 

He knew he shouldn’t have answered that text. 

Jesse grips the sides of his face and kisses his mask, and Genji jerks underneath the contact, his hands reflexively catching at the other’s hips. He tries not to breathe through his nose; he doesn’t want to know who the last alpha Jesse had in here was. 

“Missed you,” Jesse says, kissing him again and again, peppering little pecks all over his face. Almost like he might really kiss him, if Genji were human enough for it. “You smell so _good_ , darlin’.” 

“I should not have come this soon after your heat,” Genji says, although he’s already wondering what kind of alpha left Jesse alone when he was still this clearly needy. 

“Don’t,” Jesse says impatiently. “I don’t wanna listen to you talk yourself down, I want you to _touch_ me.” 

“That is not what I meant,” Genji says, his hands tightening on the other’s hips. Jesse pushes into them. “You are--emotional.” 

“No shit,” Jesse says, then knocks them both over and pins him to the mattress, hands at his wrists. He doesn’t have a hard time of it; Genji can’t actually bring himself to resist. “Tell me what I can do for you. There’s gotta be _something_.” 

“There is not,” Genji says. 

“I can’t kiss your throat?” Jesse asks. “Can’t stroke your hair or scent you?” 

“That is--” Genji hesitates, and Jesse kisses the corner of his eye, the tiny and vulnerable strip of bared skin there. Genji bites his tongue, because God knows what’d come out of his mouth otherwise. Jesse mouths his way down to his neck. It’s--distracting. 

It’s not _enough_. 

“Tell me what I can do for you,” Jesse says again, and Genji can’t answer him. 

“Lay back,” he says instead, pushing him over. Jesse goes with it, but he’s frowning at him. Genji runs a hand up his side--his _real_ hand, obviously--and tries to think. He wants to make Jesse feel good. He thinks he even wants to make Jesse _happy_. 

He doesn’t have it in him to do that. Even if he still had his body just the way it was--could he have done that even then? 

Could he have ever made someone like Jesse happy? 

“Genji,” Jesse says, and Genji ducks his head, looking away. 

“I can’t take care of you,” he says. 

“I ain’t asking you to,” Jesse says, lifting a hand to touch the cold metal mask. Genji flinches, and Jesse drops his hand. “Genji,” he says again. “Tell me what I can do for you.” 

Genji doesn’t even know. The roof is a place to hide, but Jesse’s den is a place to--is a place to--

He doesn’t _know_. 

“Turn off the light,” he says. Jesse looks at him for a long moment, like he’s something worth looking at, and then gets up and does. Genji can’t tell if the darkness makes him feel any better, though he’d really thought it would. 

“I can still see your eyes,” Jesse says as he comes back to the bed and puts a hand on Genji’s glowing chest. Genji doesn’t bother telling him about the infared mode. He can see a lot more of Jesse than Jesse can of him. 

“Better?” he asks, dimming the lights in his eyes and chest. Jesse’s hand stays against his chestplate, still lit by faint red light. Genji would put the lights out altogether, if he could. 

“Wasn’t actually worse,” Jesse says. 

Genji pulls him back down to the bed, and Jesse straddles his lap and fills up his entire field of vision. Genji--hesitates. Jesse doesn’t. He leans in and kisses his mask and pushes his hands into his hair, and Genji represses a shudder and tugs the other’s shirt up, keeping the prosthetic fisted in it and pushing his real hand in under it. Jesse purrs at the contact, pressing into it and curling his fingers in his hair, and Genji tilts his head into--into the kiss. 

It’s not a real kiss. Obviously. But . . . 

“Ain’t you just the best alpha I ever got my hands on,” Jesse murmurs, and Genji squeezes his eyes shut and just--holds onto him. Just for now. Just for a little bit longer. 

He wants to be what Jesse’s pretending he is. Wants to be what he _was_. Wants-- 

Jesse wraps his arms around his neck and shifts his weight forward and Genji falls back against the bed underneath him. Jesse keeps kissing him, down his jaw and across his throat and collarbone, and that Genji _can_ feel, that Genji can feel almost too _much_ of. He digs his nails into Jesse’s back and pulls at his shirt and Jesse peels it off just that easy. Genji hesitates another moment, then drops his hand to the waistband of the other’s sweats, and again, it’s just that easy: Jesse’s out of them in moments. 

“We should stop,” he says, hating himself for speaking, for the sound of his voice synthesizer. It’s not as if Jesse can’t already feel all the armor and plating and inhuman parts underneath him, though. 

“You actually wanna?” Jesse asks. 

“No,” Genji says, and Jesse kisses his throat again. 

.

.

.

Genji smells like the moment before a lightning strike and is covered in wires and tubes and sharp edges, dangerous and fragile at the same time, and having him underneath him makes Jesse wet enough to fucking _drip_. He’s barely keeping himself from humping his thigh like a goddamn teenager with no idea what they’re doing. 

Jesse knows what he’s doing, though, so instead he kisses what little exposed skin Genji has for him, drags his tongue and teeth along his collarbone and pushes his thumb across his nipple. Genji makes shocky little noises that fall out of him like tiny electric sparks at every touch, and Jesse presses the advantage to dig in his teeth and pinch his nipple. Genji _whines_ , which coming from an alpha is a high fucking compliment indeed, and Jesse feels his nails digging tight into his back. He can’t give Genji what he’d give another alpha, but at least he can make him feel good in some small way. 

It probably ain’t enough, but dammit, it’s _something_. 

“Wait,” Genji wheezes, and Jesse pauses. Something makes a series of little clicking sounds, and Jesse wonders for a moment what it was but is almost immediately distracted by Genji sliding down the bed underneath him and the sudden feeling of wet heat as Genji drags his _tongue_ down his stomach. Jesse muffles a yelp behind his hand, too startled to bite it back, and Genji seems to take that as permission to go to town. He bites roughly down his Adonis belt, dragging his nails across the small of his back and down to his ass, and Jesse shifts forward welcomingly because it’s _very_ obvious where the other’s headed. 

And God, if Jesse’d thought the guy knew how to finger him, that’s _nothing_ compared to the way he eats him out, mouth eager and hot and _greedy_. Cold metal bumps against sensitive parts more than once but the change in temperature just makes him even _more_ sensitive, brings out whole new sensations, and Jesses grinds down urgently into all of them. 

This isn’t him doing something for Genji, except maybe it is, in a sense. He don’t fucking _know_ , is the problem; he can read Genji like a book when they’re in the field, but doing this, figuring this out? That’s a hell of a lot harder. 

If Genji wants it, though, he sure as shit ain’t gonna complain. 

He comes apart and _comes_ , and Genji catches him when he nearly collapses. Jesse groans, trying to pull himself back together, and Genji gets a hand on his back and rolls them over and leans up over him, a slight and barely familiar weight that feels better than it has any right to. His dimmed eyes light just enough of his face for Jesse to see the hint of scars, but he don’t try to look any closer than that. 

“You’re good at _that_ too,” he pants, raking sweat-sticky hair out of his eyes, and Genji snorts. 

“Practice makes perfect,” he says. His voice sounds--not different, exactly, but just a little bit clearer. There’s a little less echo to it. 

“I’ll give you all the practice you _want_ , darlin’,” Jesse swears. Genji leans in and bites his throat, smelling like slick and sex, and Jesse groans, his head falling back against the mattress. “Oh hell. Yeah, yeah, anytime you want.” 

“Now,” Genji says, and then Jesse’s being kissed. It feels like that promised lightning strike, the way it shocks through him, and the sound he makes is barely _human_. Genji’s hand is sliding up the inside of his thigh, and Jesse spreads his legs for it unthinkingly, kissing him back with everything he’s got. If Genji’s gonna let him have this, he’s gonna goddamn make sure it’s _worth_ it. 

It’s already worth it, as far as he’s concerned, but that don’t mean he can’t make sure. 

Genji goes for his cock, but that’s not what Jesse wants, and he grabs the other’s wrist and pushes his hand lower. Genji has no problem taking the hint and Jesse sighs as the other’s fingers fill him up, pushing up into them. They rock inside him to the _perfect_ rhythm and he manages to catch Genji by the back of the neck and tug him into another kiss. 

“More?” Genji asks, his mouth trailing down Jesse’s jaw. He’s vaguely aware of silicone and plastic and metal touching him, but it’s all so much less important than the fact it’s Genji’s _mouth_ touching him. 

“More,” Jesse agrees immediately, tightening his grip on the other. Genji works another finger into him and Jesse sighs. _”More,”_ he repeats. 

Genji listens, because Genji is perfect. He sits back and works in yet another finger and presses in deeper, a pleasant stretch accompanying the feeling. It’s enough to make Jesse groan, his head hitting the bed again. 

“Tell me if it is too much,” Genji says, and Jesse lets out another groan and pushes his hips up. 

“You are exactly the right amount of everything,” he swears, and it’s not much longer before Genji’s hand is all the way inside of him and he _feels_ the other close it into a fist, into a _knot_ , and Jesse knocks his head back harder and spits out a string of curses and praises and squeezes around him to lock just like he would for any knot. _Especially_ like he would for _Genji’s_ knot. “Oh hell, darlin’, hell, you fit me just _right_ , don’t stop don’t _stop_ \--” 

“I have you,” Genji murmurs, his voice low and thick, and Jesse would maybe try to examine that tone a little more but he’s so fucking _full_ it’s chasing all the thoughts out of his head. It’s different from being knotted in heat, when he’s already overwhelmed and wanting no matter what--this ain’t something that his body does to itself, this is something Genji’s doing to _it_. 

It’s a lot, as a feeling. 

“Alpha, alpha, _alpha_ ,” Jesse whines, utterly overcome, and Genji gently twists his hand inside him and makes him _tremble_. He comes as easily as he ever has in his life, shaken and shaking, and Genji sees him through it and stays inside him, big and hot and firm for him to clench down on. 

He feels so _good_. 

Jesse moans, and Genji brushes a little kiss over his oversensitive cock. He moans even louder, relishing the shiver that goes through his body and the feel of the other’s lips, and whines in disappointment as Genji moves to reclaim his hand, clenching down around it again. 

“Stay,” he says. 

“Okay,” Genji says. 

.

.

.

By the time Genji finally leaves Jesse’s den, he’s missed an appointment with Angela and all the training he planned to do today and is _exhausted_. In a good way, maybe, except he mostly just feels nauseous and unhappy--like he tricked Jesse or let Jesse trick him or he’s not sure what. Just . . . like something like that. 

He feels awful. 

He didn’t feel awful until he closed the door between them, though, which is . . . which is something. Something complicated, and something that he doesn’t want to examine. He already knows he’s too invested in Jesse, he doesn’t need to make it any worse by _examining_ it. 

Feelings like these don’t belong in his life. Even when he was whole, he was still a yakuza’s son. He doesn’t have room for--for _softness_ like this. He never could’ve mated someone like Jesse before, and now that he has the freedom to mate whoever he likes he’s too ruined to anyway. 

He wants to pull himself apart and fall to pieces and just-- _stop_. Let them turn him off, let them put him away, let them only bring him out for missions and emergencies. He’s not a real person or a real alpha; why should he have to act like one? Why should he have to walk around lying while everyone else pretends to believe him? 

Why should he be able to do things like touch Jesse, who deserves so much more? 

He goes back to his room. It’s not a den--dens are better, warmer, _realer_ \--but it’s a place where he can shut the door and not have to deal with anyone else for a while. He reeks like Jesse, but it’s late; it doesn’t matter. He has plenty of time to take a shower before he sees anyone else. 

Angela is sitting in front of his door. She startles at seeing him, and he _despises_ his luck. 

“I thought you were in there,” she says. “Er--I mean--” 

“You thought I was ignoring you,” Genji says. 

“Yes,” she admits. It’s not like it’s something he’s never done, so Genji doesn’t say anything. “I just assumed, well . . .” 

“I am angry with you,” Genji confirms. 

“I just want to _help_ you,” Angela says. “If you really think you don’t need it, that is one thing, but I don’t believe that’s true.” 

“You are wrong,” Genji says. 

“I do not think I am,” Angela says. “But I’m not here to pressure you. You missed our appointment. I was worried.” 

“I was busy,” he says, knowing she can smell it on him. Knowing she can smell _Jesse_ on him. 

“That is a relief,” she says instead of anything damning, which might be worse than anything damning she could say. “I am glad you’re alright.” 

“I am,” Genji says, a brief flash of guilt flickering through him. She would worry, he supposes. He doesn’t understand why, but he understands that she does. 

It doesn’t exactly make him feel any better about standing around in the hall reeking of Jesse’s pheromones, though. 

“I still need to run diagnostics on your systems,” she says. “We’re already overdue.” 

“Fine,” he says. “But I need a shower first.” 

“Understandable,” Angela says with an easy nod. “I will meet you in the infirmary.” 

He doesn’t want to meet Angela in the infirmary. He doesn’t want to wash Jesse off the pathetic remnants of his skin. But he’s used to doing things he doesn’t want to, these days, so he does. 

.

.

.

Sometimes Jesse feels like he knows Genji’s body better than his own, but those times are only on missions. 

Fortunately, this is a mission. 

“How long ‘til you can get up another Dragonstrike?” he asks lowly, eyeing the guards looming ahead. It can’t be much longer, Genji’s been--

“Now,” Genji says, his eyes gleaming red and hand on his sword. “Deadeye?” 

“Now,” Jesse agrees with a crooked grin, knowing his own eye is gleaming even redder. 

.

.

.

Missions with Jesse are as easy as they’ve ever been, like there’s nothing different between them at all. Genji doesn’t understand it, but isn’t going to question it. If he questions it, they might get each other killed. As it is, Jesse knows just where to fire and he knows just where to be and they both know just what to expect; as it is, it’s smooth and easy and the best feeling Genji can think of. 

He’s barely human anymore, more a weapon than anything else, but at least he’s a weapon with a use. At least he’s a weapon someone knows _how_ to use. 

At least he can stand beside Jesse McCree in a firefight and know that _here_ , at least, he won’t fail him. 

“Good work, you two,” Reyes says, clapping a hand on both their shoulders as he passes them. Jesse grins widely; Genji tries to remember not to look too much at Jesse. Reyes must already know--he’s the commander of _Blackwatch_ , for god’s sake--but that doesn’t mean he wants to be anymore obvious about it than he’s probably already been. 

At least they do good work. Reyes won’t separate them as long as they still do good work, will he? 

He wants to believe that. Whatever he can or can’t do for Jesse, the idea of not having him on his six is unthinkable. 

“Ain’t we just the perfect team,” Jesse says, turning that grin on him. Genji feels a phantom sensation of fluttering in the stomach he doesn’t have anymore. 

“We captured the objective,” he says neutrally, and Jesse laughs, big and warm and _sweet_. Genji wants to kiss him very, very badly. It occurs to him that he probably could. He could take his mask off right now and just . . . 

He’d have to take his mask off, though, and the drop ship is dim, but not that dark. Jesse would be able to see--everything. All of it. 

There’s things Genji misses more than his face, but not many. 

.

.

.

“Have you seen Genji?” Angela asks. 

“Not for some time, I’m afraid,” Jesse says. “Something wrong?” He wouldn’t ask, usually, but she looks upset. Her ponytail’s a tangled mess and there’s bags under her eyes and blood and oil smeared on her hands, which once upon a time Jesse would’ve considered an unusual combination. 

“A private matter,” she says. “The two of you--you’re together, correct?” 

“Only so much as we’re apart,” Jesse says, scratching his jaw with a little frown. There’s no name for whatever he and Genji are, mostly because they ain’t been bothered to put a name on it. Maybe they should, but Jesse can’t help feeling like they’d cut themselves if they tried. 

“I see.” She sighs, then looks at her hands. He don’t ask why she’s such a sight, figuring it’s probably more of that private matter. “If you see him, then, would you please tell him I am looking for him?” 

“‘Course, Ange,” he says. He watches her go, wondering how long it’ll be ‘til she washes her hands and fixes her hair, and wondering if he should’ve reminded her to do it. It ain’t the first time he’s seen her in a tizzy because of Genji, though, and he doubts it’ll be the last. Maybe Genji just has that sort of effect on omegas. Maybe Angela just feels a little bit of what he feels every time he sees the guy hurting himself or hears him talk like he thinks he don’t even deserve goddamn _personhood_. 

If he ever meets any other Shimada, it’s gonna take a fucking _miracle_ for them to leave the conversation alive. Maybe several. 

Ain’t like they’d deserve to, so . . . 

Jesse goes on his way, resisting the urge to abandon his errands in favor of sniffing out Genji. No matter that Angela’s worried, the man’s a grown alpha, he’s _fine_. 

Except Angela probably knows Genji better than anyone else on base, and he’s pretty strongly doubting it was _her_ blood and oil on her hands. 

Yeah, fuck errands. Jesse turns on his heel and heads off for the roof, because it’s the first place he can think to look Angela might not’ve already checked. For all he knows, of course, anybody looking for Genji would try the roof first. 

He wishes he understood him as well off missions as he does on them. Sometimes he thinks he knows more than he thinks he does, but it’s just . . . dammit, it’s _complicated_. Even more complicated than it sounds, which was already goddamn complicated enough. 

Then again, it ain’t like he never spent a mission tracking down the idiot before he could get his fool self killed. 

.

.

.

“Angela’s looking for you,” Jesse says, which as a greeting is not one Genji would’ve hoped for. 

“I am fine,” he says. “She is just being paranoid.” 

“Give the woman a little credit,” Jesse says, crossing the roof to come over to him. Genji resists the impulsive urge to hide his bandaged arm. Jesse has to have already seen it anyway. “What happened?” 

“An upgrade,” Genji says. New tubes; new wiring. New pieces of inhumanity. He’d nearly vomited more than once while Angela was putting it all in. She says it’ll help with the nerve damage. He believes her, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

“She trying to check up on that?” Jesse asks. 

“Presumably.” Genji doesn’t bother looking at him. He feels drained down to the dregs, like he does after every procedure. Jesse sits down next to him, but Genji just keeps looking at the sky. 

“I’m gonna text her,” Jesse says. 

“Do what you want,” Genji says, too tired to care either way. 

.

.

.

Jesse ain’t the mating type. No one takes him home to their parents, no one expects him to take _them_ home, and no one expects anything more than he wants to give. 

Jesse ain’t the mating type, but . . . 

.

.

.

Angela hasn’t gotten rid of the prosthetic, which Genji learns while he’s rifling through her cupboards in search of something to make the bleeding stop before she comes back and sees how bad it is. He didn’t _mean_ to pull the new tubing out of his arm, he was just--he didn’t mean to. 

It’s a lot of blood. 

The prosthetic is still more distracting, though, tucked away in its little box. Genji touches the box unthinkingly, and grimaces as he leaves bloody fingerprints behind. Dammit. He’s going to have to clean that up, he doesn’t want Angela getting the wrong--

“Genji!” Angela says in horror from the doorway, and Genji sighs. 

Dammit. 

.

.

.

Jesse ain’t the mating type, but he wants Genji to stick around. 

.

.

.

Angela’s overreacting. It’s really not that much blood. 

.

.

.

“Was wondering where you’d got to,” Jesse says as he peers in the doorway, and Genji glares at him from the edge of his hospital bed, body strung taut and restless. 

“Angela is overreacting,” he says. 

“You pulled half your damn _arm_ apart,” Jesse says. 

“It is repaired.” Genji holds it up like proof. It might look intact, but there sure is a hell of a lot of bruising and scratches around those ports. Which is saying something, because Angela told him she used her biotic field on the damn thing. 

“Gabe seen that yet?” Jesse asks. Genji doesn’t answer. “Yeah, I thought not. Jesus, Genji, what were you _doing_?” 

“It was not that bad,” Genji says. 

“I’m pretty damn sure it was,” Jesse says, taking the other’s hand in his own and turning his arm so he can see the remaining damage. It does not look pleasant. It also looks like at least a couple new scars. “Jesus,” he says again. “Don’t do this to me, Genji.” 

“I am not doing anything to you,” Genji says, pulling his arm back abruptly. 

“Don’t do this to _yourself_ ,” Jesse says. 

“I am not doing anything to myself,” Genji says, but this time he can’t quite meet his eyes. Jesse sighs, and sits down on the bed next to him. 

“Next time, come see me,” he says. “And we’ll figure something else out.” 

“Idiot,” Genji says, but he doesn’t say no. 

.

.

.

Genji wants to pull himself apart. Wants to take his pieces off one by one and lay them out in neat, bloody rows. 

He goes to Jesse’s room and hides in his bed instead, and pretends that actually does anything to help. Pretends he has any right to be there, as if he ever could. Jesse lays down with him and wraps him in blankets he can barely feel and presses a kiss to the corner of his eye. 

Jesse deserves more than what Genji can give him. 

And Genji . . . Genji doesn’t know what he deserves himself. 

.

.

.

It’s a training accident. Not anyone’s fault, just an accident: a new bot’s programming was off, and Jesse took the brunt of the resulting trouble, painfully, and got thrown across the gym for it. He’s had worse. He’s had _much_ worse, in fact. 

It’s still pretty flattering to the omega in him, watching Genji shred the thing before it can draw a bead on him again. 

“My hero,” he jokes. 

“Idiot!” Genji snaps. Gabe’s already checking him over for injuries, and Moira’s making her languid way towards them. He can’t look that bad off if she’s not in a hurry; she loves poking at exciting new injuries way too much. 

Admittedly, something in his shoulder feels like it might be a bit broken. It sure as shit ain’t bending right, at least. 

“Always such drama,” Moira says, kneeling next to them and summoning a little ball of biotic light as she looks him over. 

“My other hero.” Jesse grins up at her, and she rolls her eyes. 

“You will need to see Ziegler,” she says. “You appear to have dislocated the shoulder.” 

“Lovely,” Jesse sighs. The biotic fields can do a lot, but some things need a little elbow grease to help them along. In this case, unfortunately, it’s _painful_ elbow grease. 

Still, he’s had worse. 

He looks back to Genji to say as much, and then blinks in bemusement. The other’s gone, no proof that he was ever there except for the decimated remains of the training bot. 

.

.

.

Jesse is in the infirmary for some time. Genji avoids it, partially because he’s avoiding Angela but partially to avoid thinking too much about the things that had flown into his head at the sight of Jesse hitting the gym wall like a sack of wet cement. Most of those things had been selfish and angry and _ugly_ , because Genji is a selfish and angry and ugly person, but one or two had been--different. 

Or softer, at least. 

He’d thought about Jesse’s den, and being in it with him, and the fact he’s never put his teeth in the other’s neck; never given him the mating bite he deserved. Thought it like he had it in him to _give_ , even, which is not, in fact, something he has to give. He can’t knot Jesse and he can’t give him a mating bite and he can’t _be_ a mate. Not to Jesse. Jesse deserves more. 

He wants to have more in him. He wants to _be_ more. 

He doesn’t, and he’s not. But he wants to so very, very badly. For himself, yes, but also for _Jesse_ \--so Jesse can have what he deserves. 

Genji’s not sure when he started thinking of himself as something for Jesse to have, but it’s not like it’s not true. He just . . . isn’t sure what to do about it. He can try to touch him and try to help him and try to be what he needs, but he isn’t really. Isn’t . . . 

He keeps avoiding the infirmary. 

He . . . 

.

.

.

Jesse ain’t the mating sort but if Genji don’t show up and _bite_ him he might just go _crazy_. He ain’t stupid, he don’t think they could have the sweet little picket fence and 2.5 pups and a dog and cat and all that, but they could have _something_. Some kinda something. 

Genji don’t visit him once the whole day he’s laid up, the bastard, and biotic field or not Jesse’s still too sore to want to go running around all over base looking for his sorry ass, so instead he sets up in his den and crankily nests down and--and fuck, goddammit, _fuck_ , there is _no way_ his heat’s coming on _again_ \--

He messages Genji, because he’s heat-stupid and _mad_ about it. He feels bad as soon as he’s sent it, but he’s already sent it, and he walks it back as best as he can but it’s hard to walk back something like _Why aren’t you HERE?!_

Stupid phone. Stupid _Jesse_. He’s stupid. He knows better than to message anyone when he’s getting heated up, unless he’s messaging to say he can’t do something or needs them to show up. Genji can’t do anything for him, and it ain’t fair to expect him to. It ain’t fair to _want_ him to. 

He really, really wants him to. He really, really wants--

Someone knocks on the door. Jesse freezes, then looks at his phone. There’s no answer from Genji. 

Oh no, he thinks, but he’s already bolting for the door and yanking it open and--

It’s Genji. Of course it’s Genji. 

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

“I love you,” Genji says, and Jesse blinks stupidly at him. 

Wait. What? 

Genji steps into the room and flicks off the light. Jesse sees his eyes dim and hears a familiar series of little clicks and then is being kissed. Because he is the easiest omega who ever did live, he melts right into it and kisses back. Genji’s mouth tastes metallic and plastic and his pheromones smell like ozone and he kisses like he hasn’t kissed anyone else since the first time he put on that faceplate, which he maybe hasn’t, Jesse realizes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“Do not be,” Genji says, and kisses him again. Jesse figures that’s reason enough to kiss him back, not that he really needs the reason. He wraps his arms around Genji’s neck and tilts his head into the kiss and lets the other push him backwards into the room until he hits the bed, and immediately drops down onto it and pulls Genji with him. They go down together and Genji lands on top of him and Jesse does his damnedest to tangle them up as much as he can. Kissing Genji is electric and unexpected and feels so damn good, and he don’t know what to think of it. He wants to turn on a light, wants to light up the room like he feels lit up inside, so he don’t miss a damn thing. 

He ain’t gonna, obviously, but that don’t mean he don’t wanna. 

“Genji,” he purrs into the other’s mouth, and Genji bites his lower lip and gives it a little tug. Jesse digs his fingers into his scalp and the back of his neck to keep him in close. His nails catch against more metal than flesh, but Genji stays in close and keeps kissing him, and that’s what matters. 

He wants to put his teeth in his throat so bad. He wants Genji to put _his_ teeth in _his_ throat so bad. He wants--

Well, a lot of things, really, but he ought to be concentrating on enjoying the ones he already has. 

“Genji,” he purrs again, kissing the other’s cheek and jaw and the bridge of his nose. “Genji, Genji, _Genji_.” 

“I am here,” Genji says, settling a hesitant but soothing hand on his side. The cool metal is almost enough to combat the heat in Jesse’s gut, but only almost. “I--do you want me to stay?” 

“Yes. Definitely. Absolutely,” Jesse swears, kissing him again and again; getting kissed _back_ again and again. “Don’t go a damn place that I ain’t.” 

“Very well,” Genji murmurs, and then he’s pushing up Jesse’s shirt and pulling down his pants and Jesse is only too eager to strip off and kick out of them--as far as he’s concerned, wherever this is going he is on-goddamn-board for it and the tickets are nonrefundable. Genji kisses his throat and Jesse wraps his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck and pulls him down again. A few little clicking sounds echo in the room, and pieces of armor peel away underneath his hands, exposing softer and more fragile parts. Not much more skin, but still softness where Jesse hadn’t known to expect it. 

“That feel alright?” he asks, trailing a hand along the edges between skin and silicone. 

“Yes,” Genji replies with a shudder. Jesse kisses his face, lips catching against the steel that seems to frame his jaw. Genji puts his hands all over him, and Jesse feels that burn in his gut grow and grow. He whines with it, clinging tighter to Genji, and Genji presses his mouth against his forehead. He feels so good. 

He knows he can feel even _better_ , though. 

“Oh, darlin’, please,” Jesse moans, and Genji--hesitates, his hands stilling on Jesse’s sides. 

“There is . . . something new I can do,” Genji says slowly. “That might satisfy you.” 

“Sweetheart, anything you _do’s_ gonna satisfy me,” Jesse swears, pushing up into him. 

“Will you roll over?” Genji asks. Jesse’s flipping onto his stomach the moment the other gives him room to, wriggling restlessly against the mattress and grinding his hips down into it once or twice just to placate the burn that’s soaking his hole. He expects Genji’s fingers, or maybe if he’s lucky his mouth. 

He doesn’t expect Genji to lean over him and press a kiss to the back of his shoulder as he pushes--as he--

“Genji?” Jesse manages, and Genji shudders against his back. 

“Upgrades,” he says, his own voice strangled as he pushes his _cock_ into Jesse just that little bit deeper. “I just--is it alright?” 

“It is the _most_ damned alright,” Jesse says, practically _melting_ underneath him. 

“You are wonderful,” Genji says, and then rolls his hips _in_. Jesse lets out a yelp, fingers twisting in the blankets as he pushes up into him. He don’t know how much Genji’s getting out of this, but if it’s _anything_ Jesse is gonna make sure to make it as good for him as he can. 

“Goddamn _spoiling_ me,” he gasps out, and gasps louder as Genji rocks back into him. 

“It feels good?” Genji covers the back of his hands with his own; hides his face between his shoulder blades. Jesse’s not sure how that’s a _question_ , all things considered. 

“Feels _perfect_ ,” he answers anyway, and that gets him a deeper, harder thrust that literally makes his _toes_ curl. “Jesus! Again, baby, don’t _stop_ \--” 

Genji doesn’t stop. Jesse yowls into the sheets, moving with him to meet him on every thrust and getting rewarded with the most _determined_ fuck of his _life_. Whatever Genji thinks he lacks as an alpha, he’s clearly trying to compensate for it, and later Jesse will tell him that’s entirely unnecessary--but _later_. God, so much later. _God_. 

“Oh, _darlin’_ ,” he moans, and Genji bites down--not on his neck, but very _close_ to his neck. “C’mon, c’mon, bite me harder, bite my neck, put your _teeth_ in me!” 

“You’re in heat. Are you sure--” 

“If you don’t, I’m biting _you_!” 

.

.

.

Genji sinks his teeth into the crook of Jesse’s neck, the perfect place for a mating bite, and Jesse goes like liquid underneath him and then clenches up so _tight_ that Genji’s vision goes out for a moment. Angela wasn’t exaggerating about how sensitive the prosthetic could be. Part of him is still mortified just remembering her installing it, and part of him is still _sore_ from her installing it, but the rest of him is here and now, fucking the best omega he knows with his teeth in his neck and _feeling_ it. 

“Genji!” Jesse practically wails, and Genji digs his teeth in deeper for just a moment. A first try at a mating bite won’t stick, no matter how bad he already wants it to, but it still feels so good and the pheromones Jesse is putting off in response to it are the most delicious ones Genji thinks he’s ever smelled. He’d do this a thousand times, if that was what it took to make it stick. 

For right now, though, satisfying Jesse’s rising heat is more important, and Genji snaps his hips in quicker and drags his tongue over the mating bite. Jesse whines and pleads and begs for more, and Genji feels--Genji feels _very good_. 

Genji feels--almost, just for this moment--Genji feels like he has what Jesse wants. 

The prosthetic reacts to his approaching orgasm and starts to swell, and it feels--not exactly like knotting used to feel, not quite, but so very, very close and so very, very _good_ , not in the least because Jesse starts cursing and clutching up around it. Genji buries himself as deep in the other as he can, rolls their hips together so the growing knot will rub Jesse’s sensitive insides just right, and kisses the bond bite. Jesse comes with a howl, locking him so tight he can’t help coming too, and he can’t keep himself from collapsing at the overwhelming feel of it--a feeling he’d never thought he’d have again, with an omega he thought he’d never have at all, and . . . 

“Ohhhh,” Jesse sighs, squeezing around him. Genji buries his face in his shoulder and chokes. “Sweetheart, you sure know how to win a boy over.” 

“It was good?” Genji rasps, still feeling dizzy and shaky but unable to repress the question. Jesse laughs light and easy and reaches back to push a hand through his hair. 

“It was _perfect_ ,” he says, and Genji might even believe him. 

.

.

.

Jesse sleeps better than he has in months. 

.

.

.

Genji doesn’t sleep. 

.

.

.

The safehouse is blown, Gabe’s bleeding and unconscious, Moira’s stuck behind enemy lines, and Genji is down a leg. It looks like a trash compactor got it. That’s _technically_ fine, since Genji’s actual legs are long gone, but the damage to the prosthetic is clearly hurting him and he ain’t in any condition to fight. 

Which leaves Jesse with no backup whatsoever to go rescue Moira with, so that’s . . . a thing, definitely. Fuck. _Fuck_. 

“I gotta get Moira out,” he says. 

“Do not fucking _dare_ ,” Genji hisses from the floor, sweat-soaked and in pain and already trying to push himself up. 

“Sorry, darlin’, but you can’t exactly stop me,” Jesse says, and escapes before Genji can prove him wrong. He’s pretty sure he would’ve ended up with a shuriken in his hamstring if he’d been any slower. He still might, if he ain’t quick enough. He rushes down the stairs, already calculating odds and angles in his head like he has any idea what he’s actually running back into, and he’s pretty damn sure that even if he survives this, he _ain’t_ getting forgiven for it. 

What else could he have done, though? 

.

.

.

Forget his clan: Genji is going to kill Jesse _McCree_ , and he’ll make sure it fucking _hurts_. 

.

.

.

“You are an _idiot_ ,” Genji fumes from his latest hospital bed, looking like murder. Jesse’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on a little, having his alpha this fussed over him. 

. . . not _his_ alpha, exactly, just--

“That’s the job, darlin’,” Jesse says with an easy shrug from his own bed, a little trapped on account of the bullet wounds. Moira’d practically had to carry him the last hundred yards to the extraction point. “How’s the new leg?” 

“Do not change the subject,” Genji snaps, shoving to his feet and stalking over to him. He limps a little, but only a little. 

“Oh, good, looks all squared away,” Jesse says. 

“I should smother you with your own pillow,” Genji says. 

“We getting kinky now, sweetheart?” Jesse raises his eyebrows at him. “Don’t think Angela’d appreciate that in her infirmary.” 

“Bastard.” Genji touches his bandaged ribs very carefully, then his thigh. Jesse’s doped up enough to not even feel it, so doesn’t protest. Genji’s not his alpha. He’s not Genji’s omega. And he ain’t the mating type, and even if he were he don’t even think Genji _could_ mate him, and-- 

Jesse breathes in, and breathes out. Maybe he’s a little _too_ doped-up. 

“You’re such a damned fine sight,” he says. 

Definitely too doped-up. 

“You are _very_ medicated,” Genji says resignedly, touching his face. Jesse puts a hand over the back of his hand and turns into the touch, trying not to sigh. 

“I mean it,” he says. “Finest damned thing I ever did see.” 

“A thing. Yes.” Genji presses their foreheads together, and Jesse feels cold metal against his brow; is hyper-aware of the fact that Genji isn’t touching him with the cybernetic hand. 

“You know that ain’t what I meant,” he says. 

“You should,” Genji says. Jesse kisses him, because he doesn’t know what else to do for something so fundamentally _wrong_ as that. Genji lets him kiss him, who knows why. He can’t actually be getting anything out of it, with the faceplate on. 

“Alpha,” Jesse purrs, and kisses him again anyway. 

That’s when Angela walks in, of course. 

“No!” she exclaims, immediately putting her datapad between them. “You are _injured_!” 

“We weren’t _doing_ nothing,” Jesse protests as Genji recoils in mortification. “Not nearly enough for that reaction, anyway.” 

“Your ribs are only in one piece because Moira and I are so very good at our jobs,” Angela scolds, swatting him lightly upside the head with the pad. “Don’t waste our work.” 

“And I thank you kindly for that work,” Jesse says, tipping his head to her. “Ribs and all.” 

“You’re lucky you got out alive,” Angela says, folding her arms. “You’re _very_ lucky Moira was strong enough to carry you, considering she was only so much better off than you are.” 

“She’s alright, ain’t she?” Jesse asks. Moira ain’t exactly his _favorite_ co-worker, but he don’t wanna see her hurt either. 

“Moira is _fine_ ,” Angela says firmly. “You may’ve been too unconscious to notice at the time, but she was the one keeping you from bleeding out on the way back to base. As I am now. No hanky-panky until your stitches come out.” 

“Please say ‘hanky-panky’ again,” Jesse says, grinning widely at her. She blushes, then scowls at him. 

“You heard me,” she huffs. “Genji, do not let him convince you otherwise.” 

_“Angela,”_ Genji says in a strangled tone, covering his face. “We--nothing was happening!” 

“Yet,” Angela replies. Which, well--she’s not wrong, Jesse has to admit. Still, it was just a kiss. 

“Yes, Doctor,” he says. She huffs at him again, then checks him over. Genji takes the opportunity to sneak out with his new leg, the bastard. Jesse is _sure_ there’s calibrations or something that still need done on that thing. 

“You shouldn’t get involved with him if all you want is another heat partner,” Angela says, and Jesse blinks at her. 

“That ain’t all I want,” he says, and she relaxes a little. 

“Very well, then,” she says. “Now let me see those bandages again.” 

.

.

.

Jesse’s in the infirmary much longer this time. Genji forces himself to actually visit, because he isn’t a _complete_ fool and he doubts any omega would react well to being avoided while injured. He manages to keep Angela from getting the privacy to ask him any embarrassing questions, at least. She’s probably already figured out the answers to at least a few of them, given the situation, but that doesn’t mean he has to _confirm_. 

Jesse grins at him every time he shows up, which makes taking the risk with it. 

.

.

.

“Jesse,” Angela says, staring at her datapad. “Give me back those pain meds _right now_.” 

.

.

.

Jesse isn’t grinning when Genji comes to meet him outside the infirmary. Genji would think something was wrong, but he looks more bewildered than anything else. 

“Are you alright?” Genji asks warily. 

“Uh. Yeah,” Jesse says, blinking slowly. “Yeah, we’re--I’m fine.” 

“You do not look fine,” Genji says, still wary. “What did Angela say?” 

“Um.” Jesse pulls a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he looks down at him. Genji frowns. “That we’re idiots?” 

“What?” Genji gives him a baffled look. Not that he hasn’t done plenty of stupid things in front of Angela, but--

“Remember my last heat?” Jesse asks. 

“. . . yes?” Genji says, somewhat lost for why that would matter. 

“Remember how you were there to _remember_ it?” Jesse gives him a meaningful look. Genji stares back blankly. He doesn’t get it. Why would--

Wait. 

_Wait_. 

“ _There_ we go,” Jesse says. 

“But--how-- _what_ \--” Genji sputters, and Jesse sighs wryly and tips his hat back on his head. 

“Angela said, and I quote, ‘I _told_ you it would work like normal’,” he says. 

“I thought she meant the _knot_!” Genji hisses. 

“Well, she meant that too, apparently. Which, in her defense, we really shoulda figured out as soon as you actually _came_ ,” Jesse says as he settles a hand on his stomach. Genji’s eyes flick down reflexively, and he thinks of the other’s cracked ribs and just how _close_ he must’ve come to-- 

“Fuck,” he says. 

“Yeahhhh,” Jesse says. “Looks like I’m out of the field for a bit, partner.” 

.

.

.

Jesse reports to Gabe, who like everyone else looks at his ribs first. Jesse don’t blame them, exactly, but the reminder’s making him a bit nauseous all the same. Or maybe that’s morning sickness setting in; who knows? 

God, he hopes it ain’t morning sickness. 

“You didn’t know?” Gabe says. 

“Yeah, believe me, I ain’t married to _any_ mission enough to leave the country in this state, much less get my fool self shot,” Jesse says. It’s something of a miracle he didn’t miscarry, as Angela made sure to make sure he knew. 

“Genji’s?” Gabe asks. 

“Yeah,” Jesse says. “Timeline don’t work out for anybody else. I ain’t been getting around like usual.” 

“Well, that saves some testing,” Gabe says, giving him a dry look. “Once again, though, I don’t want to hear about your sex life on the clock.” 

“I ain’t on the clock, I’m on _medical leave_ ,” Jesse says, smirking at him. “Doctor’s orders and all.” 

“Of course you are,” Gabe sighs. “We’ll find you a desk job.” 

“Glad to see you’re right on that, boss,” Jesse says wryly, though honestly he’d go crazy without anything to do besides play incubator. He’s still got to wrap his head around the whole situation, really, but he knows that much. 

Jesus, he’s gonna have a _pup_. Probably more than one--he might’ve been a single, but he kinda doubts he’s lucky enough that that’s hereditary. He’s a fair sight healthier than his ma was when he was whelped, that’s for damn sure. 

It occurs to him he ain’t sure if Genji was a single or not. He’s always assumed his brother was a litter-brother, but he don’t think Genji’s ever actually called him that. Then again, he thinks he’d be hard-pressed to call the man who’d tried to murder him _any_ kind of brother, so who knows. 

He could just ask, he supposes. This probably counts as reason enough to. 

He heads back to his den and starts nesting. It’s comforting, but also it’s practical--he’s about to have a lot of back problems and real sore feet and the like, judging by the other pregnant omegas he’s known, so he might as well maximize his comfort while he still can. Also, he still ain’t sure how well Genji’s taking this, and focusing on the practical stuff helps him _not_ worry about shit like how an alpha who’s only just knotted him for the first time and whose face he’s never even seen might be reacting right now. Genji didn’t sign up for pups. 

Neither did Jesse, obviously, but he’s at least gonna see the pregnancy through. Whether he keeps the pups himself or not might depend a bit more on what Genji’s got to say about things and how well he’d be able to function as an operative with a litter to worry about than any personal preferences, but . . . well, he believes pretty strongly in giving chances. Even if he can’t keep the pups, at least he’ll have given them that. 

Then again--why shouldn’t he keep them? He loves his job, he ain’t gonna lie, but he don’t think it’s worth trading away _pups_ for. And anyway Ana does her work just fine, and Torbjorn too; they both handled whelping and went back to work, and if anything happened to them, Overwatch would make sure their pups and mates were taken care of. So why shouldn’t he? 

He’s gonna have to quit smoking, he realizes. _Ugh_. No alcohol, no caffeine . . . what else? No raw fish, he thinks, and no--

Someone knocks. Jesse pauses in the middle of his half-formed nest and considers just not answering. Then it occurs to him that it might be Genji, and then he’s across the room and reaching for the door after all. 

And he was right, it’s Genji, standing there in the doorway and seeming as lost for words as he was when Jesse left him in the hallway this morning. Jesse considers filling the silence, but maybe Genji needs it to get out whatever he came here to say. 

. . . maybe not, he starts thinking after a few more moments go by. 

“I ain’t gonna hold you any more responsible than I hold myself,” he says. “We were both idiots.” 

“You were in heat,” Genji says. “And I am the one who did not pay enough attention to Angela when she was explaining . . . functionality.” 

“Being in heat just makes me stupid, not _incompetent_ ,” Jesse snorts. 

“I cannot mate you properly,” Genji says. “I cannot be--” He hesitates, and Jesse raises his eyebrows at him. 

“If you’re about to call yourself half an alpha again, I think we’re a bit past that point,” he says. 

“I cannot provide for you,” Genji says. 

“I ain’t even know what you _think_ you mean by that,” Jesse says. “But we’re pretty provided for, ain’t we? We got a roof over our heads, and Overwatch has our backs. Well--Blackwatch does, at least. I might be stuck on a desk for a while, but I ain’t any less an agent. We get real nice maternity benefits, if you didn’t know. I could probably even get a bigger room if I asked.” 

“I--did not, no,” Genji says hesitantly. “But this is not . . . is this how you meant to have pups? Truly?” 

“‘Course it ain’t,” Jesse snorts. “Wasn’t even _expecting_ to have pups, the way my life’s been going. I’m already thirty, for chrissake. I figured I was going Gabe’s route.” 

“But now,” Genji says. “Do you really want this now?” 

“Do _you_ want this?” Jesse asks. “Now or ever. I ain’t picky.” 

“I do not . . .” Genji hesitates again, and Jesse thinks he sure did pick a _damning_ place to do it. “I do not know. I thought I could _not_ have this. I thought . . .” 

“Well, you got it now,” Jesse says. “Up to you what you wanna do about it.” 

.

.

.

Genji doesn’t know what he wants to do about this. Genji doesn’t know what he _should_ do about this. This is something he didn’t even think about the risk of, because he’d so completely known it would never happen. 

But he knows what he wants to do about Jesse, and that . . . that’s almost the same thing, isn’t it? At least, that’s close enough to a place to start. 

“What do you intend to do?” he asks. 

“Get a desk job and not get shot for a while,” Jesse says. “Quit smoking and figure out how to take care of a pup.” 

“I have no idea how to take care of a pup,” Genji says. 

“Hey, we’re a two-fer, then.” Jesse leans against the doorway, sending him a pair of finger-guns. “Can’t be that hard, Torbjorn and his alpha manage it. Ana and _her_ alpha managed it. Fareeha’s great.” 

“You think you and I would have a Fareeha?” Genji snorts. 

“Yeah, no, we’re not that lucky,” Jesse says wryly. “Expect utter brats.” 

“I was one,” Genji says, a little distant at remembering something from so long ago. Something so--“Hanzo was the good one.” 

“Then I’m hoping for brats,” Jesse says, folding his arms. Genji looks up at him for a long moment, still not sure what to say or do. It’s . . . a lot. All of this is a lot. He still hasn’t even processed the bruise of a bonding bite he left on Jesse after that heat, much less this morning’s news. 

There’s really only so many choices to make in this situation, though. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“So I’ve heard,” Jesse says, flashing him a lazy grin. Genji wonders if he’ll ever say it back, but it’s not as important as making sure Jesse knows it. 

“I suppose you have,” he says, then takes off his mask, pushes up on his toes, and kisses the other. Jesse makes a surprised sound, his eyes wide, and Genji stares into them for a moment before closing his own and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Jesse responds, a hand snaking around the small of his back, and Genji wraps his arms around the other’s neck. The risk of having his mask off where anyone he cares about might see--the risk of taking his mask off at _all_ \--

It’s not that he doesn’t think about it, but it just . . . doesn’t feel important, suddenly. Not as important as Jesse standing in front of him, asking him what he wants to do about this. 

Asking him what he wants to do about _them_. 

Genji breaks off the kiss. Jesse stares at him. 

“Tell me what you need from me,” he says. “That is what I will do.” 

“Well, if you say so, darlin’,” Jesse says, ducking his head slightly with a smile that warms some phantom thing in what’s left of Genji’s gut. 

“I do,” he confirms, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


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